


tangled up in try

by addandsubtract



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Los Angeles Dodgers, M/M, Secret Crush, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: Kiké wakes up, and it’s raining.





	tangled up in try

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).



> hello saddestboner! i hope you like this story! i kept as close to the dodgers schedule as i could, so it's fairly canon compliant if you leave out the witches and the kissing, but general disclaimer that i probably got something wrong at some point. sorry about that, i did my best! and thanks to kate for looking this over for me. ♥
> 
> (ps for anyone who doesn't know, tyler toffoli is a hockey player who plays for the los angeles kings, and here he is making [kissy faces](https://www.instagram.com/p/BexDQA6AWUS/) at kiké.)

Kiké wakes up, and it’s raining. He’s in a hotel room in Florida, buried underneath sheets and comforter, and there’s rain pouring down onto his bed. It’s not a leak in the ceiling — there are clouds pressed against the plaster, grey and full and ominous. The water is warm but that’s no comfort. He wishes this was the first time it’s happened to him. At least he’s not in the locker room, or on the field. He’s gotten close in the past, like he’s a child who can’t control himself.

It’s the middle of May, the team has lost six games in a row, and are currently around 10 games under .500, so it would be easy enough to chalk it up to the shitty baseball, but Kiké has never been the kind of witch to lose control over a bad win/loss record. No, he knows what his problem is, and it’s called Chase Utley. Crushes, it turns out, are extremely stupid.

He closes his eyes and lets it rain on him for another minute, just because it seems to fit his general mood, then sighs and snaps his fingers. He can feel the spell sizzle out, the smell of atmosphere like an extinguished flame, and all at once the rain stops. The cloud disappear, leaving behind soaked bedding and carpet, lumpy plaster.

It takes the better part of an hour to extract all the water out of his hotel room, including his phone, which sucks — it’s more of a bitch to reverse corrosion on metal than it is to pull out the moisture, and he’s always been better at damaging things than fixing them. By the time he’s done he’s sweaty and it’s just after 7AM, meaning he has to get up soon anyway. They’re playing their last game against the Marlins tonight, and Kiké would rather not have to answer any weird questions from the hotel staff, and also would rather not raise any eyebrows with the team.

Now that he’s fixed his phone, he sends Toffoli a text, which says, _i did it again lmao_

Tyler is probably sleeping, given that it’s 4AM back home, but he’ll see it when he sees it. Meanwhile, Kiké heads to the shower and rinses off the feeling of having to do stressful shit when he’s barely awake.

 

Chase comes over to him during batting practice, adjusts the set of his shoulders with careful, confident hands, and tells him to stop leaning so hard on his back leg. Chase is good at that stuff — mentorship, leadership — and with Corey out for the season there’s been a noticeable uptick in his observations. Not that he wasn’t opinionated last season, but Kiké is better at demanding attention than he is at asking for help, and Chase has seemed to pick that up this year. Corey was the perfect kind of sponge, always there asking questions or for advice.

Well, it’s how he still is, probably, but for now he’s on the DL with his arm in a sling, watching them lose on TV.

“But the stance makes my ass look great,” Kiké says, stretching his shoulders and waggling his eyebrows at Chase. He can feel the magic soar up in him, pushing, and ruthlessly tamps it down. He’d rather not become a human firework in the middle of Dodgers Stadium because Chase touched him and quirked his eyebrows. Belli and Puig are pseudo-wrestling behind first base, and JT is holding court over the infielders, so mostly no one is paying attention to him or Chase.

Chase smiles, a slight curve of his mouth, tight lipped, but it still sends a shiver of satisfaction through Kiké. Honestly, he’s a mess.

“Stop showing off,” Chase says. “You’ll make better contact if you’re less worried about how your ass looks.”

“Yes, Dad,” Kiké says, rolling his eyes. He likes the way Chase looks tolerantly amused whenever he says it, but he tries to ration himself so it doesn’t feel overplayed either. It would be a shame to let such a rewarding joke get old.

He doesn’t think he’s going to successfully seduce Chase or anything. He’s not really trying, he’s just flirting because he can’t help himself. Chase doesn’t seem to mind, but he also doesn’t seem to take it very seriously, which Kiké figures is because mostly people don’t take _him_ seriously. Kiké’s cultivated that image, what with the banana suit and the twerking, but it does bite him in the ass sometimes.

When he gets back to his stall he has a text from Tyler that says, _ur gonna burn urself out u kno_ , which, despite the horrifying shorthand, is a fair point. There isn’t a ton Kiké can do about it, though. The variety of spells that try to control feelings backfire more often than they fix anything, and Kiké honestly doesn’t have the control to even try. He’s just going to have to do what he can the normal, human way. Or, well — maybe not, actually. Tyler is going to kill him.

 _buy me some sage and bring your handbook over when i’m home_ , he texts back. He should maybe also call his mom, but she’ll make that sad mom sound when she realizes what’s going on. He hates that.

 _u better buy me beer_ , Toffoli says, and never let it be said that Kiké is a bad host.

 

They beat the Marlins, finally, and then sweep the three games they manage to play in Washington. The first game is rained out, and it isn’t even Kiké’s fault — the Mid-Atlantic is just a mess of humidity and thunderstorms in the summer. Kiké misses California, and he’s anxious to get home. The next three series’ are all in Dodgers Stadium and that means twelve nights in his own bed. It also means he’ll be able to start getting his problem under control.

The first thing he does when he gets back to his apartment is test the wards on his bedroom. There isn’t much give to them, which is a good sign — they should be able to catch most of the magic he gives off at night if Tyler refuses to go along with his plan. He orders dinner, and groceries, since he has nothing in his fridge except condiments and limes from the margarita party he threw like three weeks ago. He can’t even tell if they’re still edible, and he’s slightly afraid to touch them.

As much as he hates it, he figures it’s time to light some candles and do some centering exercises. That’s the first thing Tyler is going to ask when he comes over, and Kiké doesn’t feel like lying.

The best candles to use are plain, scentless wax, wide enough in diameter not to burn down very quickly. Kiké has a whole shelf of them in his bathroom closet. He puts three in a triangle on the carpet and lights them, before sitting cross-legged in the center. Kiké doesn’t have a very quiet mind, and so this has always been difficult for him. His mom used to make him sit like this for an hour after school every day, and half the time he’d accidentally melt the candles, or turn the wicks into sparklers. She always tutted at him, cuffed the back of his head, and told him to do better next time, but he never managed it consistently.

Kiké thinks they’d all have been better off if one of his sisters had gotten the magic instead of him, but no one gave him a choice, and even if he had one he wouldn’t know how to give up being a witch. His life would be more orderly, maybe. There would be less constant damage control. It would probably be less fun, though.

He manages to still his mind for about fifteen minutes, focusing on the sound of his breath, and then he starts to get fidgety. He can’t help running through all the rebuttals he wants to make during the inevitable argument he’s going to have with Tyler when he gets here. In the end, baseball is more important than his crush on Chase Utley. Baseball is more important than his magic, too. Tyler will just have to understand that.

 

Kiké has just buzzed Tyler up when Corey texts him. Kiké’s leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for Toffoli to knock, and Corey says, _chase fell asleep watching f &f8_, followed by a picture of Chase with his head tilted over the back of the sofa, his mouth open, clearly asleep. It looks both cute and uncomfortable. Kiké’s heart clenches.

 _you gotta stick something in his mouth,_ Kiké says, because he is who he is. He and Corey bonded last season about how hot Chase is, and it’s stuck even with Corey out. Their friendship is more than that now, but it never hurts to go back to basics.

 _no he’ll wake up!_ Corey sends back, and then Tyler knocks on Kiké’s door.

 _you gotta do this for me,_ Kiké texts, one-handed, walking down the hall and letting Tyler in. Corey responds with a couple of those angry emoji with smoke coming out of their noses, and Kiké laughs, waiting while Tyler toes off his shoes.

“What’s funny?” Tyler asks. His hair is fluffy, and his cheeks are pink, like usual.

“Chase fell asleep on Corey’s couch,” Kiké says. “He sent me a picture.”

The squint Tyler sends him is knowing and also skeptical. Kiké rolls his eyes.

“You’re just getting yourself in more trouble,” Tyler says with the confidence of someone who is about to get married and who probably never had to deal with wanting to be someone while also wanting to date them.

“Leave me alone,” Kiké says. “Did you bring the stuff?”

Tyler gestures expansively to the bag slung over his shoulder, and then drops it onto the coffee table. “I can tell you have something in mind. What do you want?”

“Wow, that’s some attitude you’ve got there,” Kiké says, but it isn’t as if Tyler is wrong. He sighs. “I need you to make me a blocker. Just until the season is over, and then I can get everything sorted out.”

“Until the _season_ is over? Kiké, that’s four months from now, and more if you make the playoffs.”

Kiké shrugs. “I know the risks. Maybe I’ll get over this thing on my own, but I can’t burn out during the season, I’ll miss games.” Kiké’s position on the team isn’t as precarious as it’s been in the past, with other teams — plus he’s playing pretty well — but he’s a utility guy. He wants to be useful, and he wants to be playing when the team starts to win. He has every confidence that they will.

“You also won’t be able to use magic while you’re wearing it,” Tyler reminds him. “Not even to protect yourself.”

“I won’t have it on all the time,” Kiké says. “Just during games. And at night.” 

Kiké doesn’t usually get embarrassed, but he feels like a teenager — too overflowing with feelings to control himself. They’re like magical wet dreams, or inconvenient boners in the locker room, and it’s humiliating in the same way. He’ll get everything under control, he just needs a little help first.

“You’ve tried the meditation? You always say that shit doesn’t work for you, but have you really tried it?”

Kiké levels Tyler with an exasperated look. “This is not the sort of thing you can think good thoughts about until it goes away, Toff.” 

Tyler sighs and wilts slightly, shaking his head, curls bouncing. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

Kiké pats him on the knee. “It’s because you’re a good friend at heart.”

 

Tyler burns the sage is the mortar Kiké’s mom gave him before he left home, ages ago. Kiké doesn’t do formal spells that often, so his doesn’t see as much use as his mother’s, but every witch has to have one, and each one feels different. Each has been touched by different spells, different witches, and the magic clings to the stone like a scent.

Kiké’s mother used hers to fix things, mostly — toys Kiké and his sisters had broken, the occasional small fracture, the wear on the kitchen tiles from hard use. Any witch would know, just from using it, the same way that any witch would know Kiké’s isn’t nearly as seasoned. Kiké told Tyler not to bring his, since it doesn’t make a functional difference and they’re pretty bulky, but he does like the idea that some other witch might know Tyler was here.

“It’s gotta be leather,” Tyler says, almost apologetically. “Or hemp, I guess. Living stuff. But a chain won’t hold it.”

“I know,” Kiké says. He has a leather cuff that the younger of his sisters bought him on a recent trip to Spain, thin enough not to be restrictive when he plays, and easily snapped on and off. There’s a wave pattern branded all the way around. He pulls it out of his pocket and tosses it to Tyler, who puts it in the mortar with the sage.

“Do you have olive oil?” Tyler asks, and then when Kiké fetches it from the kitchen, pours a healthy amount on top. He has his spell book on his lap, finger marking his place while he sets the mortar on the table. “Okay, time for candles.”

“Sure,” Kiké says, and lights the four candles he’s arranged in a semicircle. They’re framing the mortar, and the flickering light glints off the oiled leather. “Do you need me to say anything?”

“Nah,” Tyler says. “It’s a short incantation, but when I’m done you have to drip wax onto the band from each of the candles and then light the oil with the fourth. You’ll know when.”

“Gotcha,” Kiké says, and then stays quiet as Tyler starts speaking. He feels the magic build with every syllable, like the mounting pressure of a summer storm. It’s hard to focus on the words themselves, because they’re almost beside the point. When the magic sings in your blood that’s more important to pay attention to.

The wave crescendos, little green sparks dancing in the corners of Kiké eyes, and Tyler points at him, still speaking, not even looking at him. Kiké picks up the candles one by one, tilts them so that wax starts runs into the mortar, and then, when he’s done it with all four, lights the oil on fire. It catches quickly, running over the leather, the remnants of the sage, but doesn’t go past the stone lip of the mortar, settling into the bowl. There isn’t enough oil to keep it burning, but that doesn’t matter — it’s magic. Kiké puts the candle back down, and waits while Tyler says the last words of his incantation. He snaps his fingers and the fire goes out all at once, 

The magic doesn’t fizzle out with the fire, or crash over them like the build suggests it might — instead it settles, coating the leather in a fine sheen. When Kiké reaches out to touch it, it makes the tips of his fingers tingle.

“So, that worked,” Kiké says.

“You thought it wouldn’t?” Tyler asks with an exaggerated scowl.

“I didn’t _not_ think it would work, but —”

“Whatever,” Tyler says, flapping a hand at Kiké. “Rinse it off, put it somewhere to dry, and then lets go out. You owe me dinner.”

“I think the agreement was beer,” Kiké says, not that he really cares.

“That was before I knew you wanted me to help you suppress your magic for the summer.” Tyler stretches, arching his back. Several joints in his back pop, and he sighs. “The price has gone up.”

When Kiké finally checks his phone again, Corey has sent him a picture of Chase scowling, and text that says, _i tried it with a spoon but he woke up_ followed by a sheepish emoji face. Then, ten minutes later, Corey texts again: _kiké???_ , and then a third, a few minutes later, _i told him it was your idea, so now you’re gonna be in trouble_

 _corey why_ , Kiké send back, now, about half an hour after Corey’s last text.

 _it’s what you get for ignoring me,_ Corey says, with a kissy face.

“Okay, I’m gonna need to get drunk,” Kiké says to Tyler. “Don’t worry, I’m buying.”

 

Kiké wears the cuff that night, and he doesn’t make it rain, nor does he cause huge gusts of wind that pull the curtains off the windows. Instead he sleeps, managing to ignore the greasy feeling the cuff leaves on his skin. He can’t even feel his own wards like this, which is wrong and weird, but needs must. He’s not thinking about what it’ll be like with long term use.

Batting practice is normal — Chase doesn’t say anything about the thing with Corey, but he does narrow his eyes at Kiké, looking him up and down like he’s trying to figure something out. If he does, Kiké knows he’ll bring it up, whatever it is.

“Something on my face?” he asks, but Chase just shakes his head and goes to talk to Buehler about the Rockies hitting weaknesses, probably. He watches for a moment, and then is distracted when Puig comes over to drape himself on Kiké’s back and laughs loudly in his ear. It’s easy not to mind.

They lose, and it’s hard to take comfort in how well Buehler pitched, because their problem is hitting. Still, over the next several games — win, win, win, loss, win, win, loss — it feels both like they’re starting to put together some good baseball and like Kiké has accidentally blinded himself.

Obviously it only feels that way when he’s wearing the cuff, but with the team finally starting to click, it feels more and more necessary. Like maybe he was causing their bad play with ambient magic. Like the simple fact of his extra senses was interfering with winning. As implausible as it feels, it doesn’t help that they end May just under .500, and then finally cross it the first week of June. What does it matter if Kiké feels like he’s swaddled in gauze if they’re finally winning games?

Tyler checks in a few times, and Kiké isn’t sure what to tell him. Usually they end up meeting Cat for dinner and Kiké can shrug off the concern. Cat knows about the witch thing — if she and Tyler ever have kids one of them will probably have magic — but it’s kind of like talking about baseball with someone who doesn’t know the rules. Rude and boring. Kiké would rather see the embarrassing pictures Cat has taken of Tyler with their dog, anyway.

Corey comes over before they head to Chicago in the middle of the June, and they watch Magic Mike XXL and have a good chat about Corey’s rehab while they drink the shitty beer Corey brought over.

“I’m impatient,” Corey says, flopping dramatically on Kiké’s couch. “Not like — obviously you’re playing okay now, but man, the beginning of the season was rough to watch.”

“It was rough to play, also,” Kiké says. He doesn’t want to jostle either Corey’s arm or his hip very much, so he sits on the floor between the couch and the coffee table instead, handing another beer to Corey while he takes a sip of his own.

“Yeah, sure,” Corey says, but he laughs. “Uh, anyway, I wanted to ask — is everything okay with you?”

Kiké squints up at him, but Corey is looking at the ceiling, giving Kiké no clues. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

“I dunno, man, Chase asked me if you seemed different.”

“He _has_ been giving me more of those looks, recently. The ‘I’m gonna figure you out’ looks. I figured it was baseball related.”

“It might be,” Corey says, propping himself up on his good arm so he can look down at Kiké. Kiké wishes that he’d shave, but he knows better than to express this opinion out loud. “Who knows with him. He just usually doesn’t ask me that stuff.”

“Guess I have some investigating to do,” Kiké says, and then laughs when Corey rolls his eyes. “C’mon, it’s your turn to choose a movie.”

 

On the plane, Kiké realizes that if he wants to sleep without worry he’ll have to put his cuff on, and that he left it in his bag, so he sighs and digs it out of his carry-on. When he snaps it into place, it’s like someone put blinders on him — he can’t feel anything in the air, not the birds flying a couple of meters away from the plane, not the condensation of the clouds around the plane, not the living, pulsing energy of the team around him. He can hear them breathing, talking quietly — Belli and CT3 are playing cards, while JT heckles them from across the row — but that’s different than feeling it in his blood. He’s alone.

“What is that?” Chase asks. Usually he spends the flights reading or doing crossword puzzles or talking to the coaching staff, so Kiké hadn’t even realized he was paying attention.

“Oh, uh, one of my sisters got it for me in Spain,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, covers for it with a smile, and holds his arm out to Chase. “Like it?”

“Hm,” Chase says, brushing it with the tips of his fingers. Energy sizzles down Kiké’s spine, though he can’t tell if it’s from the soft touch of Chase’s hand or something magical. It’s hard to know with the cuff still on. “You’ve been wearing it a lot.”

“My sister watches the games, sometimes,” Kiké says, which isn’t even technically a lie. “I thought it would be nice if she saw me wear it on TV.”

Chase gives him one of those faint smiles, the ones Kiké spends most of his time vying for, and lets go of Kiké’s wrist. “You’re a good brother.”

“You gotta show people you love them, Chase,” Kiké says, seriously. “Otherwise how will they know?”

“Very deep,” Chase says. “You’re good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chase just shakes his head and goes back to his book. Kiké considers his profile for another few moments, but he can’t get it figured out. He’d know if Chase was a witch. It’s how he and Tyler got to be friends — once the Kings started bringing him along to Dodgers stuff he could feel the magic that wafted around Tyler. Chase doesn’t have magic, as far as Kiké can tell. Still, there’s something going on here that Kiké doesn’t understand.

 _tell chase to stop being weird_ , Kiké texts to Corey, and then puts his phone away. He’s going to nap, and pretend he’s not confused until he isn’t anymore.

 

Their first game in Chicago is postponed, so Kiké goes out to dinner with the team — well, the team minus the pitchers, who are having their own sneaky meeting in Kershaw’s room. He’s had the cuff on for 12 hours already and he’s itching to take it off, but he’s worried if he does it now, he’ll forget to put it back on when he gets back to his room. Team dinners like this always end with drinking, that’s just the way of things. He sleeps with it on, and then they’re headed to the Cubs stadium, and _then_ the game goes to extra innings. By the time they leave Chicago to head to New York and the Mets, he’s had it on for three days straight.

He’s almost used to the blindness at this point, and it doesn’t hurt. It’s more that he’s used to reaching out with his magic first — to gauge moods, to read the energy in a room, to check for wards or defensive spells or other witches — and being unable to makes him feel like he’s missing something important. He made this decision, though, and he’ll have to stand by it until, well — Chase is retiring at the end of the season. This is their last chance to play baseball together, and Kiké doesn’t want to ruin it with wayward magic.

It’s possible that’s why everything is so bad this year, as opposed to last year. They’re quickly reaching the end of their time together. Kiké doesn’t like to think about or look at that too closely.

When Kiké does finally manage to take the cuff off for a few hours, it’s such a relief that he feels a little woozy with it. He snaps his fingers and creates a shower of multicolored sparks just for the hell of it, and then says the small incantation his mother taught him when he was four, and watches a flock of shadow birds land to roost along the edge of the painting mounted on the wall. They titter and chirp, talking over each other as they settle in to sleep. It’s not the most productive use of his power, but it’s what he likes best.

When it’s time to head to the stadium, he snaps the cuff back on and watches them disappear.

 

He starts to notice the dizzy spells over the next couple of weeks. They sweep the Mets, head home to split their series’ against the Cubs and the Rockies, and sweep Pittsburgh. They’re just over a week from the All-Star break, and the Dodgers are eight games over .500. If Kiké has to spend his time in the dugout leaning against the fence for support or sitting on the bench rather than cheering, it is what it is. He hasn’t made a major mistake on the field, not the kind that’ll haunt him, anyway, or that cost them a game, and that’s what matters.

He texts Tyler about it, and Tyler just says, _ur an idiot stop wearing the blocker_ , which isn’t helpful, and is also something he’s heard at least five times.

 _toff i do not want to be the person who exposes witches to the general public because i have a stupid crush on my coworker_ , Kiké sends back.

 _u have no idea what bottling ur magic up 4 so long is gonna do bro_ , Tyler says. _what if u explode? its only meant for a short term use neway_

 _guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it_ , Kiké says, because both options suck but one of them burns him out, puts him on the DL, and exposes magic to all of his unsuspecting teammates plus potentially the 40,000 people who decided to watch some baseball that day. That’s not even including the television audience. The other just makes him a little dizzy when he exerts himself too much.

 _if u die because ur in love with chase utley i will murder you_ , Tyler says, and Kiké figures that’s fair.

 _it’s fine, the break is soon i’ll rest up then._ Kiké figures he’ll visit his family for a couple of days, even though his mom is going to know something is up immediately and make him confess. Maybe she’ll have an idea he hasn’t thought of. She’s the magical guru in the household. His dad is a better cook, but the knowledge of spells is past him.

Tyler sends him a selfie of his skeptical face, Dodger on his lap looking equally skeptical. Kiké doesn’t think he owes Tyler a response.

 

Kiké gets to sleep in his own bed when they play the Angels, and it’s only two hours to San Diego, so the last eleven days of the first half look to be pretty chill on the travel front. It’s also easier to find time to take off the blocker when he’s home, so he thinks he’ll be okay.

Two days before the break their game against the Angels goes to extra innings. They cannot score with runners in position, and it’s frustrating, coming so close so many times and then losing in extras. Kiké shouldn’t be mad — he struck out, sure, but he got on base, too. It’s not just on him.

He sheds his uniform and showers, feeling pretty lucky that everyone wants to talk to Chris and Kenley and not him. He’s fine until he’s pulling on his shirt, and then everything tilts sideways and goes white. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but it doesn’t help, and then there are hands on his shoulders, tugging at him. He realizes that he fell, that he’s on the floor. He’s lucky he didn’t hit his head on the bench on the way down.

“Kiké? You okay?” It’s Chase, of course.

“Shit,” Kiké says. He rubs his eyes, and sits very still for a moment, and then when he looks up Chase is hovering, still touching him, his eyebrows knit with concern. “I’m fine, just got a little lightheaded. Not enough electrolytes, I guess.” 

Over Chase’s shoulder, Cody is looking at him with wide eyes, but when Kiké shrugs and smiles at him, he seems to decide that Chase has everything under control, which Kiké is incredibly grateful for. It’s not like Kiké is bleeding.

Chase’s mouth goes firm, and he says, “That’s been happening a bunch recently, huh?”

Kiké hadn’t realized he’d noticed, but he shouldn’t be surprised. Chase is observant, and he has a good eye for behavior changes. He’s not sure what to say, and he must be quiet for too long, because Chase sighs.

“Look, let me drive you home at least.”

Kiké doesn’t think he can say no, not without making Chase even more suspicious, so he tilts his head and smiles instead. “Sure thing, Dad. Thanks.”

“Christ,” Chase says, and shakes his head. He helps Kiké up, sticking too close, like he’s actually worried. Maybe he is. Kiké just knows that the contact is too much with everything else, the blocker and the lightheadedness, but he can’t make himself take a step back. It is what is it.

 

Chase doesn’t make him talk during the drive, thankfully, but Kiké knows that Chase is going to lay into him when they get to his apartment. He’s trying to think of a good excuse, one that Chase will believe, but he can’t come up with one.

“Okay,” Kiké says, once they’re finally inside his kitchen. “I’m gonna get you a beer, and get me a beer, and then I’m going to figure out the best way to explain this to you.”

“Sure,” Chase says, easygoing now that he’s getting his way. He sits on Kiké’s couch, and takes the beer that Kiké hands him. “So what’s the deal with the cuff?”

“What do you mean?” Kiké asks, carefully. He perches on the edge of the couch, leaving some space between them.

“I mean you’ve been weird since you started wearing it — before that, actually, but before you were just a little more energetic than normal. After, it’s the opposite. You look pale, and you’re getting dizzy. It’s going to effect your game, if it hasn’t already.”

“Right,” Kiké says. “Well.”

“Not that that’s the most important thing,” Chase says. He’s so earnest, leaning forward and touching Kiké’s arm. “Just that I know it matters to you. But, Kiké, you have to be healthy.”

Kiké can’t tell if Chase thinks he’s doping, or on drugs, or something worse, but it doesn’t sound good. Maybe that what makes him open his mouth. He doesn’t want Chase to be disappointed in him.

“I’m a witch,” he says. “Like — magic. I can do magic.”

Chase blinks, and then tilts his head, considering. “What do you mean?”

“The cuff is a blocker, it blocks my magic so I can’t feel it or use it. I was losing control. But I’m not really supposed to wear it this much and it’s had, uh. Side effects. Not great ones, but better than accidentally doing magic in public, I guess?”

“That sounds — implausible,” Chase says. His tone is very careful. Kiké hates it.

“Look, I’ll show you,” Kiké says, and unsnaps the cuff from his wrist. His magic comes flooding back in, and he can’t help the way he sighs, shoulders dropping at the relief of it.

Chase is still looking at him, eyebrows raised, so Kiké pinches his fingers together like two opposite corners of a frame, and says a small incantation, and watches the rectangle glow in between them. When he drags his fingers through it, it leaves marks like watercolor brush strokes. His mother used to paint for him when he was small, before he knew that it was magic. He hears Chase suck in a quick breath, too loud.

“I’m not much of an artist,” he says, drawing a primitive tree and house, a sun shining in the top corner.

“Wow,” Chase says, and Kiké looks at him, his slightly widened eyes, his crooked smile. “Who else knows about this?”

“My family, uh. Tyler Toffoli and his fiancée. One other guy from the minors, but we don’t talk much anymore. That’s about it.” He pauses. “I couldn’t think of a lie that made enough sense and wasn’t also maybe illegal, so. Please don’t tell anyone without asking me.”

“I won’t,” Chase says, easily. “Show me something else.”

Kiké does. He brings back his flock of shadow birds, and he lights the candles sitting on his coffee table with the snap of his fingers. It feels freeing to finally be using his magic again.

“I was making it rain in my sleep,” he says, eventually. “And a few times I almost caused a wind storm in the locker room. The blocker made sense.”

“Why now? You’ve been in the majors for a couple of years and you’ve never had to wear one before.” Chase is mostly done with his beer, and he’s moved from watching the birds roost on the shadow of the cactus Kiké’s dad bought him last year to looking at Kiké’s face. Kiké wants to touch Chase, or, really, he wants Chase to touch him. It’s a subtle difference.

He’s told the truth so far. He doesn’t think Chase will hold it against him if he does again.

“Would you be surprised if I told you I have a huge crush on you?” Kiké winces at the way it comes out, but he laughs, because that’s who he is.

“A little,” Chase says. “If only because it’s hard to tell when you’re flirting for fun or because you mean it.”

“Well, surprise, then,” Kiké says. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Congratulations. My crush on you is a big enough deal to make my magic go haywire.”

“That’s flattering,” Chase says, and he reaches out to touch the skin that was previously covered by the blocker. Kiké shivers. “How can I help?”

“I don’t think you can,” Kiké says. “I’m sure I’ll get over it eventually.”

“You don’t have to,” Chase says. His voice is low, gravelly, and Kiké should look at him, at his face, but he’s too busy trying to figure out what that means. He’s not used to wanting anything this much that isn’t baseball, and he’s certainly never thought it was something he could have. Chase’s hand tightens on his wrist, and then Chase is pressing closer to kiss him. Kiké jolts, surprised, but Chase’s fingers slide up his forearm, so careful, and Kiké’s only human. He kisses back.

It’s chaste and warm, comforting. When Kiké pulls away, Chase’s eyes track over his face, examining his reaction.

“You don’t have to kiss me just because I’m into you,” Kiké says. “In case you were wondering. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know,” Chase says. “It’s not a hardship to kiss you. I _want_ to kiss you. I try to stay distanced from the team in some ways, not because you’re not all important, but because it’s easier for me that way. It’s impossible to do that with you.” He shakes his head. “I guess what I’m saying is I’m glad you like me. I like you.”

Kiké can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him. He has to bite his lip to stop it, and even then it takes him a long moment to get himself under control. “You couldn’t just say that? Man, you’re dramatic.”

Chase just smiles at him. “Will this make your control worse? Because I really don’t want you to put that bracelet back on.”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. We’ll find out?” He’s going to have to text Corey immediately after Chase leaves and fill him it. He’s going to have to text Tyler too, for that matter.

“I guess that’s good enough for now,” Chase says, but Kiké has no doubt he’s going to have his eyes on Kiké all the time now, just to make sure. Kiké doesn’t mind. “Let's go out to dinner.”

Kiké looks at Chase. He holds back the question — _is this a date?_ — and instead stands, holding out his hand for Chase to grab. “Tacos,” he says. “There’s a good cart a couple blocks from here.”

“Perfect,” Chase says. When he stands, he leans in and kisses Kiké again, a short press. “Just to remind you that I want to.”

“Got it,” Kiké says. “Cool.”

Chase laughs, and Kiké can feel it, the vibrations of it in the air, the way his power can sense Chase’s pleasure, and he leans in and hugs Chase before he can stop himself. Chase’s hands frame his ribs, and then wrap around him. He’s happy. He’s allowed to be as affectionate as he wants.

“Okay, okay,” he says, drawing back. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”


End file.
